Quiet of the Shadow
by Enchantable
Summary: Post 2x01, Helen runs to the roof, John goes after her. What follows is the exploration of a past that neither truly wished to forget.
1. Chapter 1

**Okay so I totally didn't think of these two until I caught up on Sanctuary and watched the season 2 premier. And OMG these two are just beyond awesome together.**

**This is a tag on to that episode. After she runs off.**

**Oh and the song Breathe by Alexi Muroch is what inspired this as well. I love the lyrics and I think they really work with the two of them.**

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"Helen."

The voice jerked through Helen's madness. That calm, collected, _comforting_ voice. She hated how her heart seemed not to pound as hard when that voice came to her. She hated the comforting effect it had. All she had to do was listen to that voice, to his voice, and everything in the world would be alright.

Except that wasn't the case.

Because they had taken Ashley. They had taken her and they had warped her. Her beautiful, strong daughter had attacked them without a moment's hesitation--she had attacked _her_ without a moment's hesitation. No matter what she had seen, no matter what she had done she had thought that she could always trust Ashley. Well, except for a rebellious streak around Ashley's sixteenth birthday. But Ashley wasn't sixteen, wasn't a child. She was like a partner to her, a partner with her own strengths and abilities. And yet not like a partner at all. Because while Helen would fight to get the people she loved back, she wouldn't have fought like that. She wouldn't have pulled guns or fired them for that matter. But she had and she would, she would go right into the clutches of the Cabal if she thought that it would bring Ashley back.

But it wouldn't. Because she knew Ashley and the eyes she say looking back at her, they were not John's eyes, they were not Ashley's eyes. They were eyes she had never seen before and they chilled her to the bone.

"I'm in no mood, John," Helen said, trying to ignore the tremble in her voice.

John Druitt clenched his fists angrily. It had been an exceedingly long time since he had cared so much about another person. Helen had always had the capability to stir the emotion in him, be it anger or love. But the worry in him, the raw fear that cut through him like a hot knife through butter, it was not for her. Not entirely. He was worried about Helen, about how she was reacting. But he was far more worried about Ashley. What he had seen was terrifying, but more than that, it was how quiet she had been. Every interaction with the young woman had been fraught with sharp words and fast kicks and only one of those things had been there in their past interaction.

And it was the one that affected him physically.

He knew that Helen was furious as well. Mostly at the Cabal but also at him. Even if removing her was the only way to assure both their safety, it would not take much to make Helen think his actions had malicious intent. It would be easy for her to see him as the enemy. One of many but the only one who was right in front of her. He knew and he did not care. Because if she needed an enemy, if she needed a fight then he would give it to her gladly.

"I had to get you out of their, Helen. We both know that--"

"She _was_ Ashley!" she cried, spinning around, her hair flying out with the movement, "deep inside she was and if you had let me take her back, I could have helped her!"

John looked at her, recognizing the fear in her eyes. The pure instinct that accompanied it--that maternal instinct. He had no doubt that if she thought his death and her own would bring Ashley back, she would kill them both without a moment's hesitation.

"Hysteria does not suite you," he told her, finding no joy in the anger that sparked her eyes, "she would have killed you before you could have subdued her."

"You don't know that!" she shouted, her words laced with raw emotion, "and we'll never know that! They've taken her and we might not get another chance!"

"I assure you we will," John said, "the Cabal know that. They will send her simply because she knows the most about this place. About the Abnormals."

"No!" Helen cried, "no they cannot use her! Not like this!"

John knew she was past the point of reason. Ashley's kidnapping and alteration had thrown her over some edge. The calm, brilliant woman that he had come to know was not there. In her place was this hysterical creature, someone that John did not know how to deal with. He was not accustom to dealing with hysterical people of any kind--none that he wanted to deal with anyway. The prostitutes that he had killed, they had been hysterical. Screaming and pleading and crying. Half of him justified the killing with the need to shut them up. And now Helen was standing up there, looking as if she was going out of her mind with fear.

"Calm yourself, Helen," he said, "you are of no use to anyone in the state you are in," her eyes widened, "what do we need to do to prepare?"

Helen closed her eyes, knowing what he was doing. Repeating her name, he was not allowing her to pull away, to think his words were concerning someone else. And to her great shame she realized that it was working. Her heart was pounding and her chest was rising erratically but she was aware of her body's physical reaction to the adrenaline that pounded through her. She forced herself to focus on that, on her physical reactions and not the raw wound in her chest. She had to focus. Because despite what she wished, despite the fact it disgusted her, John was right. She was of no use to anyone in her current state. Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm the pounding of her heart, tried to gather herself.

"What do we need to do, Helen?" he asked again, his voice low and calm and such a contrast to her hysteria.

"We--we need to let the other Sanctuaries know," she said, "the Cabal will use her face to get in. The other Sanctuaries might be fooled if they are unaware," she took another deep breath, smoothing the fabric of her pants, "and we will need to inform them of the effects we know of--Tesla will be able to help with that."

"Is there anything else?" he asked.

"I--" she stopped, her fingers digging in as she thought of Ashley's face, "I don't know!" she cried desperately, "I cannot think!" her voice pitched, turned formal, all signs of how rawly emotional she was.

"Helen," he did not use his power to stride over to her, knowing teleporting would only remind her of Ashley. His hands grabbed her shoulders, "You can. Focus. What do you need to tell your other Sanctuaries."

Truthfully he did not care about the other Sanctuaries, he did not care about her mission to save the world and the abnormals in it. But he knew _she_ cared. He knew she cared enough that she would be able to focus on it, that she would hopefully be able to reach through her fear and focus on that. He could see it work as well. She still looked hysterical but she looked like she was fighting it. He knew Helen would be able to focus on it, that she would be able to reach past the madness that engulfed her to find the strength he knew she possessed.

Her eyes locked with his, probably the shock of him touching her that caused it. But that defiance, it was the same. He had always been taller than her and she had always been stubborn in her defiance of even something as natural at that. She had always raised her chin, met his eyes squarely even in the midst of a society that said she should not. And now in a society that probably viewed her as far higher than him, she still met his gaze without any sort of hesitation or shame. But now there was something else in her eyes, something John didn't fully understand, something he wasn't sure he wanted to fully understand.

"She has your eyes," Helen said, her voice soft and choked. John felt his own widen, "it was the first thing I noticed, when she was born. And I knew I should hate it--that i should hate you for it. But I knew what looking in those eyes meant. Before the madness, before the insanity--I knew what those eyes meant and I was happy she had them."

"Helen," he began.

"Her eyes were--oh God her eyes," she closed her own, shaking her head at the horrible sight of what her eyes had been, "I want her to have her eyes again--I want her to have your eyes!"

Helen's final words echoed on the roof as she closed her eyes, her head shaking as if to deny what she had just admitted. John felt his fingers tighten on Helen's shoulders, knowing that she was right in what she had said. It was the first thing he had noticed when he had seen the girl. Not that she had his eyes precisely, but that she had eyes that looked frighteningly familiar. It was not until later, when he washed the latest blood off his hands, that he had looked in the mirror and realized why those eyes had looked so familiar. But Helen had said nothing of the sort, though he knew she had to have noticed the similarity. He simply had never thought she would say she did not hate it.

"And she will," he found himself promising on the roof, "you can bring her back Helen."

Helen knew the truth in his words, knew that if anyone could bring her back it was her. But it was different. If it had been any other Abnormal, Cabal involved or not, she would have found a way. But standing on the roof, the place she went for comfort, she found the situation seemed impossibly hopeless. Because this was not any Abnormal, this was her daughter. This was Ashley. She felt John's hands slip off her shoulders and suddenly found it impossible to breath. She turned around, pressing a hand to her mouth. She was going to be sick. She was never sick but now she was sure she was about to be.

But what spilled from her lips was a sob.

The sound was wretched as the tears she had barely held back broke free. They streamed down her cheeks, feeling as though it was fire, not water that streaked her face. The sobs tore at her as she desperately tried to muffle them, tried not to show her weakness. She heard his feet move, heard his purposeful stride towards her and one of his hands pressed against her upper back. Helen Magnus did something she had not done in many years and reacted on pure instinct, pure adrenaline. She turned around and slammed her fist into his eye, throwing her full weight behind the blow. He knew how to take a hit, a good hit, not the sloppy one she threw but he took it all the same.

Half mad with rage, blinded with tears Helen punched John anywhere her fists could reach. His chest, which she had once thought the perfect rest for her head. The arms that had held her so tight, so perfectly. The face she had thought handsome. Anywhere her fists could hit she did. And he took each blow, barely even flinching as her knuckles bruised and tore with the blows she rained on him. Her tears crippled her as she gasped for air, finding barely any of it though they were outside. Her fists beat his chest in synch, bruised bloody knuckles staining the darkness of his shirt.

Her hands slid down his shirt, opening against the fabric before seizing it in her grasp, as tight as she could. The adrenaline was still pounding through her but she could not breath, not here, not anywhere. Not until Ashley was safe. Her fists tightened in the silky material as she struggled, wishing she still had the strength to fight him. Her hands loosened with the intent to punch him once more but John had enough. Before she could move his arms were around her, one encircling her waist, one encircling her shoulders, just over her curls. Helen felt her entire body tense for a moment before it went traitorously limp.

Before air flooded her lungs.

"Its my fault," she whispered, closing her eyes, "its because of what I am."

"Its us, Helen," he said, tightening his grip on her, "its our fault. Not just yours, not just mine. Ours."

Helen sobbed harder. John tightened his grip on her as her hands held his shirt like it was the last solid thing in the world. There had been a time when he would have known what to say to comfort her but now he had no knew that Ashley's return was the only thing that would help her but he did not know how to accomplish that, only that he could not do it alone. So, despite words failing him, he held her tightly, knowing that perhaps the thing she needed was someone there to hold her. And a secret, terrible part of him rejoiced at the fact that she still showed weakness to him, that she let him in past the face she showed to the world.

When the adrenaline drained and the tears exhausted her. When her eyes fought to stay open, John bent just enough to slip an arm under her legs and sweep her fully into his arms. Perhaps because she had cried herself into exhaustion against his chest, or perhaps because of something he would never understand, her head remained against his chest. The only change was her arms which came up around his neck. The action was familiar, though it had been many years since it had been done. She had her pride, he had his but sometimes, on the rare occasions when she had been unable to walk due to her adventurous nature or the even rarer occasions when she drank too much in her youth, she had let him carry her home.

John had never informed her how it made him feel to be allowed the honor of carrying the great Helen Magnus. Despite the fact she squirmed sometimes, or the first time when she had crossed her arms and refused to look at him until he had told her she had to hold him or he would drop her on the ground, he liked carrying her. Because it was in those moments, those precious few moments, when Helen let him in. And though he would never admit to another soul, John Druitt liked it when the beautiful, vivacious woman he had once called his let him past the walls the century or so she had lived had forced her to build up.

Holding her now, John tightened his arms around her just fractionally and teleported from the roof to her room. She didn't protest, she didn't even look at him as he walked the pristine carpet, past the windows that overlooked the water outside the Sanctuary and to the bed. It was old fashioned, still with four posters and a canopy, the fabric tethered neatly to the posts. He walked over and laid her on the bed, her arms coming down off his neck. He reached down and pulled off her shoes, placing them on the ground. She laid there, her eyes half open as tears still trickled down her cheeks. He reached out and picked up the comforter, exposing the sheets underneath. A quick movement of her legs and he pulled it over her still fully clothed form.

He stood up, stepping away from her. She didn't move, didn't even respond as he looked down at her. For some reason he found it difficult to teleport out of the room and leave her alone in the darkness. But it was not something he dwelled on as he vanished, appearing back in the sanctity of the guest room that had been given to him.

In the darkness of her own room, illuminated only by the city lights, Helen felt her fingers dig into the fabric over pillow.

"John," she whispered his name, too tired to feel shame over the fact she wished desperately that he was there with her.

That his arms were around her once more.

But soon sleep swelled up and took her and she thought of John Druitt no more.

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**Please review! **

**The next chapter takes place well into the past. Before the Five, back when John and Helen were kind of new to each other and he helps her after she sprains her ankle. **


	2. Chapter 2

**By popular request!**

**Alright I lied. **

**She did think of John!**

**I don't want to do a current time Sanctuary fic, not yet. But I do want to do a bit about how John and Helen fell in love because, lets face it, I think its a cute thing to think about.**

**So this takes place when she's a student auditing classes at Oxford and he's a student going full time. Its going to have a bit about the other members of the Five and how they came to be but the main focus is going to be their relationship. **

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**Welcome to the early days of Helen Magnus and John Druitt**

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Helen Magnus was _not_ having a good day.

Ankle deep in mud, she watched as the specimen she had been tracking raced far away. Groaning she looked down at the hem of her dress. It was the latest fashion, one she had felt pretty in and a complete indulgence. She had only wanted to look nice for a single afternoon. But the moment she saw the Abnormal out of the corner of her eye she had taken off after it without a moment's hesitation. And now she was in the outskirts of London, ankle deep in mud and her prize was running away. No, Helen Magnus was not having a good day and at the moment she felt more than a little like crying about it.

But that would never do.

Instead she went to brush her skirts off only to realize that her hands were muddy as well. Anger surged through her as she realized her dress was not only dirty on the hem, the bodice was as well. And the skirts were torn too. She knew her hat and gloves were casualties of the run. And her parasol was as well. But she had at the very least hoped to keep the dress wearable. A lift of her skirt confirmed what she already knew. Petticoats, stocks and her boots were also caked with the stuff. Though there was no point to it, Helen picked up her skirts and turned around to walk home with whatever dignity she had in tact.

But one step forward revealed a sharp pain in her left ankle. Helen sucked in her breath, looking down at the appendage. Her boots hid any signs of the swelling but she could tell she had sprained it. The day was just going from bad to worse as she realized in addition to her dignity being in shreds, her feet were probably going to be as well before the walk home was over. Taking a deep breath, Helen forced herself forward. Her ankle hurt with every step and she knew she was limping terribly but she kept walking. The mud turned to cobblestones under her feet as she reached a more populated part of London. Still hobbling she tried to ignore the stares people were giving her.

She knew that the group of men laughing outside the tavern were laughing at her. But Helen was very used to such behavior from men. She ignored them, even when she heard footsteps behind her.

"Helen! Helen!" Her feet slowed as she turned around to see a man jogging up to her, "my you walk fast, even for someone with a hurt ankle."

Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him.. The man was quite handsome, with bright blue eyes and a mop of brown hair she had a feeling was never really under control. He was dressed extremely fashionably, money screaming from every fold of cloth. But even so, he wore it all with an air of disdain. As if the very cloths he wore stood for something he found unpleasant. A fact she knew to be true.

"John," she sighed looking at him, "you should return to your friends," she said, not daring to move, "I must get home."

"Even with a hurt ankle, you are a stubborn one," he said, amusement bright in his eyes.

Helen's own narrowed as she fought against the blush in her cheeks. John Druitt simultaneously enthralled and disgusted her. Usually the former. She had first met him when she was auditing a class on politics in Oxford. He hadn't thought twice about challenging every opinion she gave, even when most of the men did not take her seriously. In fact, she wasn't sure John Druitt took anyone really seriously. But he did not treat her any different. And when she fired back ever one of his insults and barely concealed quips, she saw respect shine in his eyes for her opinions. When they began exchanging quips in the hallways, it had raised eyebrows among the students, mostly because he had a reputation as a pot stirrer and she had the same. Their interactions outside of the Halls were few and far between and at the moment, Helen was not in the mood to verbally spar.

Especially not when his face had been the one in her mind when she had bought the dress.

"I am quite well," she said, "and how are you this evening? It is a bit early for drinking, don't you think?"

"Oh Helen, I believe the point of drinking is that you do a minimal amount of thinking."

Helen pursed her lips in disapproval and John felt his smile widen. He had been enthralled with Helen from the moment she strode into the classroom and sat down in front. The defiance written on the doll like features was a combination he was immediately entranced by. And when he disagreed with her point she immediately threw his words back. She believed in what she said and John Druitt was certain that no matter what she said she would fight for it until her last breath. She was refreshing, so unlike all the women he had shared the company of. And while he found himself completely enthralled, he also found himself more than slightly attracted to her.

"So, what was it this time?" he asked.

"I believe that is not your concern," she said as another group of men walked by, their laughter heightened by her presence, "and I must be on my way. I will see you in class. Have a wonderful evening, Mr. Druitt."

She turned around, picking up her skirts and began to hobble down the street in the direction of her house. John watched her go, trying to decide what to do with the pink clad woman hobbling. Unfortunately this was not the nicest part of London and he knew there was all kinds of trouble she could get herself into. Oh he was equally sure that she could handle the trouble, he just knew that even if she was able to handle it, it would be nice to have another person there. Besides, with his presence, the rowdier of the men wouldn't even begin to trouble her. John looked back at his friends who laughed and motioned before he turned and looked at the woman hobbling away.

He turned and walked after her, quickening his pace and using his longer limbs to close their difference.

"I am afraid my gentlemanly pride could not allow me to let a creature as lovely as you to hobble into the night," he said, "I will escort you home."

"While I appreciate the sentiment," she said, "the gesture is unnecessary."

"Oh come Helen," he said with a smile, "one of us can catch our--"

Exactly what he was going to say was lost because cobblestones and mud were not an ideal combination. Helen's left ankle had decided it had enough for the day and it buckled under her weight. WIth a startled gasp she threw out her hands, grasping the closest thing that would keep her on her feet. That thing, unfortunately, happened to be the lapels of John's coat. His hands streaked out, steadying her on her feet. It was her feet that were the problem though and John shifted his arms so they fully wrapped around her form. Helen's head flew up, embarrassment staining her cheeks as she realized that walking home was most likely going to be problematic.

"My apologies--" she began, stammering the words out.

It was his fault really. He did smell very nice and when she was flustered, he only found it adorable. A wide smile split his face and Helen felt as though she wanted nothing more than for the earth to open and swallow her whole. He smiled down at her, clearly enjoying having her in her arms and Helen knew, with horrible certainty that her her face was far darker than her dress.

"Well it seems you have a use for me after all," he told her.

"I have a--John!" Helen shrieked as he hooked one leg under her arms and the other around her shoulders as he swept her right off her feet, "John put me down!" she cried.

"And have you crawl home? Don't be ridiculous," he said.

"I do not live around here!"

"And I assure you I can make the journey fine," he said stepping across the street, "now where do you live?"

Even with the lace of the dress, he seemed to have no trouble carrying her. Helen looked up at him as he walked down the street, clearly expecting her to tell him where to turn. Helen couldn't figure out what she was to do with her arms. One of her hands was still in his lapel, her other dangling next to him.

"Helen, this will be a far easier task if you put your arm around my neck," he told her as if reading her mind.

"Oh, right, I'm sorry," she stammered, reaching up and looping her arms shyly around his neck, "this street, right here."

John nodded and turned down the street. It took them almost an hour to get to her house, which was in a far better section of London. But John never showed his weariness or commented on how heavy she was. Helen was too embarrassed to make conversation and John seemed content to be quiet. When they arrived at her home, it was almost fully dark outside, the lamps slowly being lit around them. Helen pointed towards a townhouse and John walked towards it. He st

"Would you like to come in?" Helen offered, "I took you from your friends, I can at the very least offer you a drink--or food if you would care to join me for dinner?"

"I would like nothing more," he said, "but I do have a condition."

"And it is?"

"You must allow me to see to your ankle," he said She looked at him, "I am not in the practice of leaving my patience without the full extent of my care," he said.

"Well, I would hate for you to break your practice," she said, "so I agree to your terms."

John nodded as he walked up the steps to the doors. Helen raised her fist and knocked on the door with the brass knocker. After a few moments, a woman came to the door. She was dressed simply but in cloths that were made for a good deal of abuse. Her eyes widened when she took in the sight of Helen and John, her fingers tightening on the door as she tried to figure out what she was going to do.

"Miss Magnus!" she cried, "what happened?" her eyes went to John.

"It is nothing to be concerned with, Jane," she said, "Mr. Drutt has taken excellent care of me. He will also be joining me for dinner," Jane nodded and stepped aside, "has my father returned?"

"Not yet, Miss, he left word that you should not expect him until tomorrow at the earliest."

"Thank you," Helen said.

"Watch your head," John said. Helen leaned forward as he walked through the doors.

"My father's office is down the hall. There are supplies in there."

John nodded and took her down the hallway to where her father's office was. It functioned mostly as a workplace for his research and when he needed to treat a patient not at his practice. John walked through. A cabinet held medical supplies while there was a bed and two chairs. John walked over to the chair and placed her in one. He sat down in the other and picked up her ankle, holding it in his hand. He undid the buttons of her boot and pulled it off to reveal her stocking clad foot. He raised his eyes to hers.

"Your stocking," he said.

"Well you are going to have to leave the room," she said. He looked at her, "I am not about to take my stocking off in front of you."

"No standing," he said setting her ankle watched him leave.

John stood outside the room, hands in his pockets. The Magnus home was a beautiful one. It was elegant but understated elegance, the kind that it took effort to create. It was also incredibly clean, though he had a feeling that was far more because of Jane and people paid to make it that way than because either of the Magnus's were adept at cleaning. There really was no way he could have seen the night going this way when he had joined Tesla and the others in a nightly romp through the underbelly of London.

"You can come in," Helen called to him.

John turned and opened the door, walking back into the room. Helen was still sitting on the chair, her stockings nowhere to be seen. She had removed her other boot and both her feet were exposed, one stockinged, one not. The bare one was on top of the chair. John came back over and grasped her ankle, raising it as he sat on the chair. He held her ankle in his hands, his fingers examining the joint for any sign of a break.

"You're very good at this," Helen said as he moved his hands up the expanse of her ankle.

"My father," he said, "he is a doctor. I learned by watching until I was old enough to be taught," he was quiet for a moment, concentrating, "I think you have only sprained it. I will need to bandage it."

"The cabinet, over there," she said.

Helen nodded as he set her foot on the chair and walked over to the cabinet, opening it and pulling out two neat rolls of bandages. He walked back to where she was sitting and pulled her foot into his lap. Deftly he bandaged her foot, wrapping the linen around it. They were both quiet as she looked at his hands. They were sure and deft, clearly knowing what they were doing as they fixed her ankle. John tied off the bandages and moved his hands away from her ankle. Helen went to move it away but he laid a hand on her foot.

"Surely the daughter of a doctor knows to elevate an injury," he said.

"Of course," Helen said, "I only wished to free your lap."

"So anxious to get rid of me?" he looked at her, "I'm hurt."

"No, its--its not that," she stumbled over words, "you did leave your friends. I simply thought you would be anxious to return to them."

"I dare say I prefer your company to those of a group of drunken belligerents," he said.

Helen blushed as he lifted her foot up and crossed his legs, placing it down on top of his knee.

"So tell me, Helen, what creature possessed you to run through the mud in such a beautiful dress?"

Her eyes lit up.

"Oh it was the strangest thing I have ever seen. I tried to approach it but it took off before I could properly make contact. So I pursued it on foot," she looked down at her ankle, "with limited success."

"Limited? I would not have figured you an optimist."

"Well of course there was some success. I now know the creature dwells in the woods and that it is very quick but not agile. So next time, when I pursue it, the capture will be far easier," she said.

Her heart fell when John laughed. Suddenly Helen did not feel very competent or smart or pretty, all she felt like was a fool. John Druitt was being very nice but she felt that he was probably being nice because she was a woman. He was probably going to be brutal when they met in class on monday. She looked down at her skirts, staring hard at the mud, hoping that she could stop the tears that she felt threatening her eyes. Or at the very least that she could hold them back until he left the room.

"What a woman you are, Helen Magnus," he said. Helen's head flew up, tears forgotten, "most would run in the opposite direction but you not only pursue, you are diligent in your pursuit."

"You must think me extremely foolish," she said.

"A little slow, perhaps," he said, "might I suggest next time you dress for the pursuit? Boots without heels would be an excellent place to begin."

"You're teasing me," she said, though her own smile betrayed her amusement.

"Teasing? Hardly," she raised an eyebrow, "i was merely offering a suggestion as to how you could best accomplish your goal," she continued to look at him, "even I am not brave enough to tease the great Helen Magnus," he said, though his smile betrayed the words he spoke.

Helen smiled and shook her head.

"The great Helen Magnus?" she repeated, "that sounds rather, I don't know, egotistical. Don't you think?"

"Oh I don't know about that," he said, "perhaps it is only egotistical if one refers to themselves in such a manner."

"Miss Magnus?" there was a knock on the door, "dinner is ready."

"Thank you Jane," Helen said looking at John, "well, am I permitted to walk to dinner?"

"I suppose," he said, "but only if you permit me to escort you."

"If you insist," she said as he stood, offering his arm. Helen placed hers on his as he turned his hand, gripping hers and accepting a good deal of her weight on his arm.

"You will, however, have to give me directions. I'm afraid I do not yet know my way around your house."

"Yet?" she asked.

"Well I assume you are going to invite me over, when you are not injured," he said. She smiled but did not deny, "I have three particular friends in mind who I believe you would get along famously with."

"You know, it is a very good thing I do not follow social convention," Helen told him, "or this would be quite scandalous."

"Oh Helen," he said, "I believe you will be causing scandals for many years to come."

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**Please review! Remember though that Helen's not the hardened monster hunter and John's not psychotic. They aren't even abnormal yet. Right now they're young and defiant and she's got a tiny bit of a crush on him and he thinks she's rather fascinating. **

**But review--please review! You know you want to. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay so in my head, Nigel Griffin is played by David Tennant. And we will be going back to the current story line a bit later on. But I want a bit of a backstory first. **

**Nigel is the Invisible Man who died in Sanctuary and his granddaughter is off with Will. But now Helen's gonna meet the crew!**

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"John, you cannot be serious."

John Druitt leaned back in his chair and looked at his friend. Nikola Tesla looked at him with skepticism combined with disgust and just a bit of fascination. For a man of short stature, Nikola had an ego that would floor even the most accomplished of men. It was astounding really, how assured he was of his own self worth, despite having accomplished nothing to warrant such self confidence.

"Is it because she is a woman?" he asked.

"No, it is because I know nothing about her and she is most likely an idiot," he paused thoughtfully, "like most women I have had the great misfortune of being expected to hold a decent conversation with."

"Contrary to your belief, Nikola, every woman is not modeled after your mother," he said.

"And we can thank God for that," Nikola said, "but I still don't think there's a reason to entertain this woman's ideas," he took a drink of the cup in his hand, "what I can't believe is that you left the room so she could remove her stockings. If I had a woman in a ruined dress playing 'doctor' with me, she would be out of it very quickly."

"Perhaps that is the reason that John had her in such a state and you did not," James Watson said walking into the room.

Nikola made a sound of disgust in his throat as John and James traded smiles behind his back. The three of them were at Nikola's home the next morning. Nikola had been out the night before and was, as usual, not feeling the effects. James on the other hand had clearly been dragged out and it showed on his entire face. He looked as though he wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep, though that probably would not do much for the pounding in his head. Nikola turned around a placed a cup in front of him before placing another in front of John.

"Now, John, why do you think we would get along with this girl of yours?" James asked.

John looked at James, not entirely sure how to convey what he wished. James had not dismissed Helen but it was clear that Nikola had. Then again, there was very little pleasing Nikola, not without proof of worth first. John took a drink from his mug and winced slightly at the bitter liquid that stung his tongue. He looked over at Nikola who set down the crystal decanter, the amber liquid sloshing inside its prison. James was wise enough to smell the liquid first before shrugging and taking a drink from the spiked tea anyway.

"Isn't it obvious? He's smitten with her," Nikola said turning around, "If only Nigel had returned with us last night. He would have found this more amusing than anyone."

"Oh Nikola, I don't think there is a person on this earth who takes greater pleasure in others misfortune than you."

Nikola made a face as jJohn sat unmoving in the chair. He did not even have to question it. he knew that, despite his dislike of the fact, Nikola was correct. He was rather smitten with Helen Magnus. Not simply because of the way she looked. No, it was far more in the way she acted. He knew hundreds of women who would have been able to make that pink dress of hers a hundred times more heart stopping but he could not think of a single one who would take off after what they wanted in it. Nor did he know a single one who would challenge everything he said. He didn't know men who would do it--aside from the two in the room and Nigel. But Helen seemed to have no problem with it.

"She fights for what she believes in," he realized aloud, "no matter what the obstacle. Including the rules of society," he looked at Nikola, "you two would get along rather well on that front."

"Hmm, I do love a woman who breaks rules," he said taking a drink of his tea, something John had a feeling was far more brandy than tea.

"Excuse me, Master Tesla?" they turned at the butler in the doorway, "Master Griffin is here and he seems to have lost his pants."

"I sincerely hope he had the sense to come in the back entrance," Nikola said turning and striding out of the room.

"Well played, old boy," James said raising his glass, "very well played."

"I do my best," John said raising his own in return.

"I don't think I've seen Nikola change his mind about anything so quickly," James continued, "except--no, no that is the fastest I've ever seen him change his mind," he took a drink, "this Helen of yours must be something else."

John smiled.

**

* * *

**

"That will be all today," the professor said.

Helen quickly gathered up her books, sliding them into her carrying case. She did the snaps up, and turned, picking up the hem of her skirt and walking briskly up the stairs towards the exit in the back.

"Helen!"

Helen's feet paused as she turned around to see John Druitt walking towards her. Immediately she felt her cheeks burn at the sight of him making his way through the students. He moved with an effortless sort of grace as he walked towards her, as if the only time his body touched anyone elses was when he chose it to be so. It was as if he moved in a different world, one that was just for him. Helen waited as he came across to her. With no care to anyone else he stopped on the middle of the stairs as people exited around them.

"Do you remember my friends who I said I thought you'd get along famously with? Well they are simply dying to meet you," John told her.

"Today? Now?" she asked.

"Yes," he said, "if you would like--unless, of course, there is another specimen you feel the need to chase after. Which, of course, I must inform you would be ill advised in light of your still healing ankle."

"Well, I could hardly be considered to go against the orders of my doctor," she said, "lead the way.

"So I shall," he said with a smile, "my carriage is just outside."

"As is mine," she said.

"Then what are we to do?" he asked with a charming grin as they headed towards the school entrance.

"You lead, I shall follow," she said as they stepped into the sunlight.

"Its as though we are dancing," he said walking over to the carriage she was heading towards and opening the door, offering his hand and helping her inside.

He walked back to his own as Helen informed her driver what they were going to do. The carriages moved through London towards the outskirts, where the houses were larger and very grand. Helen felt trepidation spike through her but forced it down. She was too used to nerves to let them show on her face. The carriages stopped in front of a house so grand Helen was sure it belonged in a fairy tale.

John came around and held out his hand. Helen placed hers in his and stepped from the carriage. The two walked up the way and up the steps that led to the sprawling house. John reached out and rapped on the knocker, stepping back to wait next to Helen. She shifted slightly on her feet, trying to fight the nerves in her stomach. Though aside from the nervous shifting there was no outward indication of what she was feeling inside. She was nervous though, terrified really considering how most men reacted to her presence. Their reactions usually shifted between outright amusement or disbelief or some kind of conflict between the two of them.

"It will be alright, Helen," he said, "you have nothing to worry about."

Helen nodded, tightening her hand on the case.

The door opened and a butler looked at them both before stepping aside. John motioned forward and Helen stepped into the foyer. John followed her as the butler closed the door behind him. He turned and led them through the foyer towards one of the other rooms. Helen focused on the butler's back and nowhere else. She didn't want to be anymore intimidated than she already was. The warm presence of John Druitt behind her was a comforting one, one that made Helen sure she could step forward without panicking.

"Master Druitt, Miss Magnus," the man announced as he pushed the doors apart.

Helen's eyes widened as she looked up at the spectacular library. Her father's was incredible but this one, this one even did his proud. Books rose as far as she could see, balconies, ladders, all incredible and breathtaking.

"I think she's spellbound, maybe she will play doctor after all."

Helen's eyes went right to the three people in the room. They were men, all dressed exceptionally well. They stood talking about something, all three standing with the kind of posture that it took a very long time to learn. It was effortless and she knew they were at the very least trained in deportment. But none of them had the effortless grace John did. Their eyes were on her but the look in them could not have been more different. Still Helen met their gazes in turn and walked forward.

"Hello, Gentlemen," she said as she reached where they were.

"So you are the great Helen Magnus," Nikola kissed her hand, "John was very right to hide you from us for so long."

"You will have to pardon Nikola's dramatics," John said, "I believe he enjoys them far more than any of us," he looked over, "this is James Watson."

"It is a pleasure to meet you," James said, "from the little I know your addition will be a welcome one."

A final man stepped forward. He was dressed in brown. From the tops of his shoes to the collar of his shirt, it was all brown. The shirt underneath was creme, in the same family of colors. It did not help matters that his hair and eyes were also brown. It was as if he stood in front of a brown wall with his back turned, he would be invisible. But the smile on his face was the biggest she thought she'd ever seen on a person. He strode forward with little but brash charm.

"Yes it certainly is," Nigel said, turning his wrist over and producing a chrysanthemum out of nowhere, "don't you look like you stepped right out of a dream," he offered the bloom to her.

"Thank you," Helen said, feeling her cheeks flush.

"Defeated by the slight of hand," Nikola sighed.

"Again," James said, smiling at the venomous look sent his way.

"Yeah, its been quite a few times now," Nigel said rocking back on his heels, hands tucked into his pockets, "so, Helen, welcome to our little club."

"Oh this is a club is it?" she smiled, relaxing fractionally, "I take it this is the clubhouse then? Oddly enough mine were always in trees or secret corridors."

"Oh its far too dusty in those things for cloths such as ours," Nikola said, "though I'm sure we could work something out."

Helen laughed. She knewshe should have been apprehensive or offended at the comment but she simply could not find the anger to direct towards Nikola. His own lips curved into a smile as he looked at her, his surprise at her lack of offense morphing into something he could almost have called liking. Oh he was interested in her, the moment she walked through the door without any sort of fear he had been interested in her. But laughing, well she wasn't acting like any woman he had encountered.

"So, Miss Magnus--" James began.

"Helen, Mr. Watson" she said with a smile that both charmed and left no room for argument.

"Then you must call me James," he said, "I have been told you are rallying against not being allowed to attend Oxford fully."

"That is correct," she said, "I see no reason why my work should not reap the same benefits as someone of the opposite gender."

James nodded, engaging her in discussion as Nikola moved over to where John was standing, watching the scene with amusement and admiration.

"And what benefits they are," Nikola told him, "I have seriously underestimated you, Johnny, old boy."

"A mistake I trust you will not make again," John said.

"How could I? I will tell you this. If you don't want to play that other kind of 'doctor' with her, I do."

"Nikola," John said warningly.

"Well you seem to be content to hear that mouth form those very wise words," he grinned, "I have another idea for what it can form."

John turned and walked away. Nikola watched him walk over to James and Helen, his eyes moving back to Helen once more. James laughed at something and turned to John who seamlessly joined the conversation. Nikola turned his head as Nigel put an arm on his shoulder.

"Well I'd say John's not the only one smitten with the great Helen Magnus," Nigel said with a grin.

"Oh shut up," Nikola said, walking over towards the three of them.

Nigel followed with a grin.

* * *

**So they met up! They like each other!**

**Next time is totally gonna be a John/Helen fest. Seriously. But I freak love Nikola.**

**Please review!**


	4. Chapter 4

"Father!"

"I'm sorry Helen but this is necessary. My work is funded on the grants I gain at parties like this. Your help in these matters is invaluable."

Helen watched her father walk away and turned back to the box on the bed, tears gathering in her eyes. She hated parties like this with a passion. But these balls were the way her father got money. Wine and money, they both flowed at events like this. Helen knew she was invaluable, she and whatever tools were in the box on her bed. She had made plans though to meet with the boys tonight, James had his latest invention that Nigel had claimed to contribute in some illegal way towards the completion of. And now she wouldn't get to see it, not yet. Because she was going to have to go and put on her best party face for this. Whatever her father's ideas did not get in payment, her smile would push over the edge.

Helen moved towards the bed and opened the box. Looking down at the contents, she felt the threatening of tears before shoving it away. The others would simply have to understand.

Especially John.

It had been two months, two of the most wonderful months Helen had ever had. She had to prove herself in their conversations, she had to prove herself in everything, but once she had they had accepted her. It was not because she was a woman either, it was because she was new to their group. But now she spent almost every afternoon with the rest of them, talking about the world around them or listening to James talk about the latest experiment he was planning. And even with the friendship blossoming, John still challenged her in class and teased her when she showed up with hair askew and dirt on her nose.

After two hours, Helen was ready to face the word. She had been laced into the dress, her hair pulled up and her face made alluring. It took so much to get ready for these functions but Helen would have been lying if she claimed a part of her did not enjoy looking pretty. Even if it was for such an event as this ball. Slowly she turned and left the room, not wanting her feet to hate her anymore than they would. At the top of the stairs she stopped and peered over, her eyes widening.

"John," Helen gasped.

John Druitt was a man rarely stricken speechless. But that was exactly how he found himself. Helen stood at the top of the stairs, only it was Helen as he had never seen her before. She wore a dress cut low and tight on her bodice, lace edging the top of the fabric and the edge of the bands on her arms. The skirt swept outwards, but not as dramatically as some of the dresses he knew were in fashion. The navy silk was gathered and bustled as was in style but what drew the eye were the iridescent beads on the skirt, each done to look like a firework illuminating the night sky. Her hair was pulled back, held in place with a handful of pins that looked like they were the stars.

"Helen," he breathed her name as he stared at her.

"Yes, I know I look foolish," she said picking up her skirts and hurrying down the stairs, "but it is for a good cause," she stopped, looking up at him, "you do not have to tease quite so much," she said, feeling her cheeks heat up.

"Forgive me," he said, "you have stolen any words my lips could form."

Helen stared at him, her eyes wide with shock. Either he was being terribly cruel or he was truly entranced by her. Her eyes moved over him, searching out signs for which of the two it could be when she realized he too was dressed incredibly formally.

"Are you--"

"A family obligation," he said, "one it seems we share," he looked at her, "I was going to send my apologies for not joining you all tonight."

"in person?" she asked.

"I thought it would be amusing for you to see me in my discomfort. Since I so often seem to catch you at the height of yours."

"How thoughtful," she said with a smile, "and yet, pointless," she motioned to her dress.

John stared, struck that she could possibly think she looked bad in the creation she was wearing. But his words once more failed him. It was an exceedingly rare and unpleasant experience, to be struck speechless. Even if it was by a woman as stunning as the one standing next to him.

"Well I will see you at the ball," John said with a bow.

"Yes, see you there," she said with a smile as he turned and walked away.

**

* * *

**

Hour later Helen found herself trapped.

As usual the party was nothing short of amazing. People, transformed into creatures out of the most beautiful of dreams, milled about the room. There was no anger or unhappiness, at least not anywhere that was present on the surface. It was an escape, really, though it was a necessary one. Sometimes people needed to forget about their every day life, about the problems they faced. Even if it was just for one night.

But it was not enjoyable for some.

Not even for John Druitt.

John listened, partially, to the men he was speaking to. He knew the four men well enough to know whatever they were saying was not anything that require his full attention. His eyes scanned around the room for Helen. She was easy to spot and, from the looks of it in need of a rescue. A group of men was surrounding her, clearly all entranced with her. John did not like the look that was in their eyes, as if Helen was the latest accessory that they had to have. Despite the fact he did not particularly like the jealousy he felt in his stomach anymore than he liked the fact that she was in any kind of trouble, he found himself rather happy that he could have an excuse to leave the conversation and go to save Helen.

"Excuse me, Gentlemen," he said turning and walking towards Helen.

Off in the crowd of men, Helen took a deep breath and struggled to keep her smile on her face. She was getting close to her breaking point but forced herself to remain in control. John was off performing the duties he had to and she was _trying_ to do hers, a job that would have been much easier if the men in the room hadn't cornered her. Helen was doing her best to smile and try to get a word in or two past 'good' and 'thank you' but it was very near impossible. Her patience wearing thing, Helen was sure if something did not change quickly, then she was going to loose it and snap angrily at someone.

A light throat clearing drew her eyes to the latest man who joined the fray. Helen felt her lips curve into a smile at the sight of him as John Druitt seamlessly navigated the gathering to her side.

"Gentlemen, I am afraid I must steal Miss Magnus," John said with dramatic regret, "for the dance, of course."

The men all traded looks as Helen gratefully placed her hand in John's. He led her towards the dance floor as she found it easier and easier to breath. Once they arrived, he stepped around, placing a hand on her waist and taking her other in his. Helen placed her hand on his shoulder as he began to move them to the music.

"Thank you," Helen said.

"It was my pleasure," John said with a smile as he moved them perfectly to the music.

Helen smiled as they danced. He was a very good dancer, his grace just as present in the movement. Helen smiled as they danced, content to be in the silence. Helen could feel eyes on them and tried to fight her mind's instinct to go over how they looked. She did tend to overanalyze things and this was one time she wished she was not so over-analytical. The two of them moved across the floor seamlessly, gracefully even.

"I believe that someone else is looking for the pleasure of your company," John said.

Helen looked over her shoulder to see her father approaching with a man who looked frighteningly familiar. Helen felt her stomach plummet as she recognized the greasy haired man who seemed to think that grants were given in return for kisses. Kisses that Helen had only had the supreme misfortune of receiving once--once was more than enough. She looked around the room, searching for a way out but she could find none. She looked up to see John looking down at her, obviously curious as to why she was so uncomfortable.

"Oh," Helen bit her lip, "I'm sorry John."

"Sorry for--"

Helen seized his lapels, yanked him down and pressed her mouth determinedly against his.

John felt his eyes widen in shock before he realized what was happening. If she was apologizing then--

Then--

It was impossible to think really. He could taste the wine on her lips and some other strange thing, probably some pigment on her lips. But she was intoxicating, even with her white knuckle grip on his lapel. Her mouth was pressed forcefully against his as she clearly struggled to compensate their height difference. Slowly John slid his arms around her waist, high enough for it to be as proper as it could. He moved his head to the side, her own following his lead as the height difference lessened and the kiss turned more gentle. Her fingers slackened on his lapels as they kissed on the outskirts of the dance floor.

John risked a glance to see that the man was gone. Helen too seemed to have judged that it would be time to draw back. She did so quickly, practically jumping back away from him. Only John's hands on her waist kept her from truly running away.

"I'm so sorry, John"

"Helen."

"It was completely uncalled for and I--"

"Helen."

This time he augmented his words with actions, drawing a hand from her waist and lifting under her chin with his fingers. Her eyes rose with the motion, meeting his. He realized he was smiling. John Druitt, who could have had any woman in London in his arms had the one he did want there and he could not stop smiling. He saw color stain Helen's cheeks as she fought her own smile, still clearly nervous, perhaps a bit unsure of what his feelings were concerning her kissing him.

And how nervous she was.

She had done what was necessary but at the moment all she felt was foolish. She had _kissed_ John, kissed him to avoid most likely having to kiss someone else. But she had kissed him none the less. And yet it had been wonderful. Breathtaking even, the way he kissed her. Now he was smiling. Not in a way that showed amusement or dislike for what had transpired but in a happy way. In an infectious way and Helen felt her own lips curve, despite her fighting it down. Slowly John lowered his hand, sure her eyes wouldn't move away from his.

"You are like no-one I have ever met, Helen Magnus," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, "and you must forgive my foolish words, it seems in moments like these, my mind deserts me."

"Then I believe it would be best if we did not talk," Helen said taking a step back, moving as smoothly as she could before she turned on her heel and ran.

Helen ran as fast as she could from the party, hiking up the silk of her skirts to aid her pace. One moment she felt like smiling, like never leaving the sanctity of his arms and the next she felt as though the world was ending around her. She just knew she could not be there. Hot tears threatened her eyes as she ran, hating herself for it and yet knowing that she had to do it. She had to get away. From the party, from the men, from her duties.

But mostly, from John Druitt.

Helen was a woman who prized control. It was because her life that had very little of it that she craved it, as much as she could. Whatever shreds, whatever pieces she could grasp at she did. And that was the problem with John Druitt. Unfortunately for all her brilliance, Helen forgot to account for one crucial factor and that was their height difference. Her heavy dress did little make up for the long strides of the unusually tall man and before Helen had made it close to her intended goal, his hand was on her upper arm, warm and comforting and Helen was sure she was going to go mad if she let his touch stay on her for one more moment.

"Helen what is going on?" John demanded, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

For all Helen prized control, John prized unpredictability. His life was a mass of predictability, a scripted piece that flowed along some predetermined, pre-approved course. He fought it, he raged against it but at the end of the day the fact of the matter was that what occurred usually did along the lines that the rest of his life unfolded. John enjoyed James and Nikola and Nigel not simply because they were brilliant but also because of the chaos that inevitably followed. But he had never met anyone as unpredictable or chaos-prone as Helen Magnus and John found he craved her more than anyone else.

Unfortunately he had no idea what to do at the moment.

He thought that everything was fine. The kiss had been shocking but not unpleasant. One moment she had been smiling up at him, as though she enjoyed it and the next she was running away. John did not understand and, with sinking certainty, he was sure that Helen did not either. When she turned around and met his gaze, her eyes unusually bright under the glow of the lamps, he was certain that she was just as confused as he.

"Why do you do this to me?! I have always been in control of myself. Even when the world is out of it, I have my own control. Except--" she gasped, "except when I am with you!" her fingers tightened in her skirts, "i cannot do this. Not now. Not with everything as it is."

"Why not?" the question fell simply from his lips. She stared at him, "I can help you--"

"I do not want help!" she cried, "I fight for my beliefs. I fight for what I want. Even when--no, no _especially_ when it is not what the world wishes for."

"I am not asking you to give up your beliefs," John said, "I would _never_ ask such a thing of you--"

"Then what are you asking of me?" she demanded.

"What I have always wanted," he said. Her eyes narrowed, "simply to be with you."

Helen stared at him, her eyes wide.

Both were frustrated by his statement, John because he seemed to think it was no longer the right thing to say. Helen because the idea that someone like John Druitt, someone so used to getting what he wanted--especially when it came to women--would want nothing more than to be with her was almost impossible to believe. It was almost laughable. If she did not see the simple honesty in his eyes, she would not have believed it possible herself. But she did see the honesty in his eyes, the kind that was so very rare in the world.

"Helen," he looked down, clearly frustrated, "if all you wish for is beliefs, that is all you are going to have. There is more to life than constantly fighting."

"Perhaps for you," she said, scraping whatever dignity she had left together to face him, "but for me it is different."

"No," he cut her off, "it is this way for everyone. Life is more than just the next fight Helen. You have to have something worth fighting for, something that will happen after you fight or all you are doing is running."

"Do not patronize me," she said jerking her head up even as her hands balled in her skirts.

"I only seek to inform you of the truth," he said, "something I know you seek quite passionately."

Helen gritted her teeth before spinning on her heel and walking down the hallway. John followed her. She stalked past the carriages, her gown in her hands as she headed for her home. John followed her. Helen heard him following her, his pace almost leisurely. Helen felt anger streak through her before she turned on her escort.

"Why are you following me! I thought I made my wish for solitude clear!"

"That you did. However it is late and you are--" her glare stopped him from saying woman, "dressed so exquisitely. I would never allow harm to come to you while I could prevent it."

"If you think I cannot fight--"

"I do not think there is a person in the world who could fight in that," he said motioning to her dress.

Helen gasped in indignation, hating the truth that he was right. She stepped forward, her eyes blazing as he stood there, looking so calm, almost smug, and clearly confident in his abilities to protect her. Helen knew she could not fight but that did not mean she would not try to fight. Before she could even think about what she could possibly do in her dress, John was towering over her, preventing any sort of movement. The moment the smell of him invaded her senses, Helen found her raging anger ebb away. She still met his gaze, even when it hurt her neck to do so.

"I'll scream," Helen threatened.

"Your pride will not let you," he replied.

"And what would you know of my pride?"

"Most likely that it will make you slap me after I kiss you again."

"You wouldn't dare," Helen said, her blood racing to the challenge.

But, as it turned out, John Druitt would dare.

It was quite different from their first kiss on the dance floor. The breeze blew across the bare skin of her arms and her neck but her front was impossibly hot against his chest. Her heart pounded as he ducked his head and captured her lips with his. He kissed her, his lips full and pressed against hers. His mouth was firm against hers, insistent and Helen found herself responding on instinct and pride. Her own lips moved determinedly against his as all she became aware of was the pounding of her heart and the rush of blood to her head. Her eyes fluttered shut when his tongue swept the curve of her bottom lip before entering her mouth. Though she tried to focus, Helen found it impossible to do as she reciprocated the movement. All she could do was kiss him as though her life depended on it, as though he was the air she breathed.

Finally John drew back. Helen's eyes flew open as she looked at him, knowing her cheeks were stained and her lips were swollen. His eyes scanned her face, searching for her reaction. So Helen gave him one.

She drew back her hand and slapped him.

John had to admit the woman was more than capable of slapping someone properly. His cheek stung furiously. Even so she did not move away, clearly knowing that he would follow her. She was torn between anger and something else--something she was not ready to put a name to. But it was something that was not entirely unpleasant. He stood there with his hands by his sides, despite the fact she had slapped him. Though he had deserved to be slapped for what he did. Kissing a woman like that--Helen cut herself off. Kissing a woman like that should have had something other than a slap for a reaction.

"There is no need to look so smug," she said turning and walking back up the street.

"I look nothing of the sort. Where, may I ask, are we going?"

"Back to the party. I promised my father I would be there," she said as they headed back, "I do not want to worry him."

John nodded as they headed back to the party. At the entrance she turned and looked at him. John met her gaze steadily and Helen could not help but do the same.

"There are people I need to speak to," she said.

"Is this your way of trying to get rid of me?" John asked, feigning hurt.

"Unfortunately, I believe there is nothing that could get rid of you," she said with a shake of her head.

"Oh Helen, how you wound me," he said pressing a hand to his chest.

"If you do not cease with the dramatics, I will loose you in that crowd," she threatened, glancing at the doors, "or perhaps in my crowd of admirers?"

"You have made your point," John said as Helen smiled triumphantly. John sighed and extended his arm to her, "shall we?"

Helen looked at his arm before slowly placing hers on his.

"We shall," she said.

And they entered the party once more, this time together.

* * *

**Okay whose pysched for this week? I am just about DYING to see what's gonna happen!**

**So I wanted John and Helen to have a romantic interaction fairly early on. They're both serious go-getters and clearly not that keen on social propriety. After all, Helen was pregnant before they were married. But I also wanted there to be a bit of chaos around it. **

**Next chapter, the Five are back. Now with a couple. Lets see what the three others think of 'young love'.**

**Also, in terms of jumping to the present time, I'm probably going to write a few more chapters (like 3 or so) in the past and then we're gonna go back to the present. I feel like Helen and John in terms of the time of his madness has been dealt with in the show and I'm not really keen on writing it. I want to get to present John and Helen struggling with Ashley. **

** Once again, Please PLEASE review! This is the first story of this kind I've done and I love feedback. So review! Thanks!**


	5. Chapter 5

"I apologize for my late arrival, gentlemen--"

Helen Magnus trailed off. Upon her arrival at Nikola's house, the butler had led her to a different part of the house, somewhere far closer to the entrance. Helen had been expecting a small room but she found herself in possibly the grandest room she had been in--in a private residence. Standing in the entrance Helen had a feeling that this was a place more often used for balls than the activity for what it was currently being used. But even so she could appreciate the grace of the movement, the skill that was employed. And after the events of three days ago, Helen was sure she did not want to set foot in a ballroom for at least another month.

"Helen! There you are," James walked over to her, "I'm afraid Nikola and John are in one of their moods," he sighed looking over at the two men.

"Did they say what about?" she asked.

"Oh no, when they get in those moods, the only talking is insulting," Nigel said. Helen gasped and turned towards him.

"Where did you come from?!" Helen demanded.

"Nigel does that. You'd think he was invisible," James said with an amused smile.

"Yeah, sorry about that," Nigel said rocking back on his heels, "habit, I'm afraid. So right now, they're tied. But we all know John's gonna win."

"Oh you do?" Helen looked at the two men dueling, "Nikola seems very skilled."

"And so he is. I think Nikola's been fencing as long as he's been walking," James supplied

"Then what makes you think John will win?"

"Because Nikola hasn't ever fought _for_ anything."

"Well nothing except pride," Nigel said, "and, Helen, if there is one piece of advice I can give you, it is that you should never fight for pride. It clouds your mind, it destroys your focus. If your goal is not worthy of the fight, its pointless to even try, You will fail."

Helen nodded, still watching. Both men were wearing padded vests and pants, their faces hidden behind masks. They dueled with foils, their legs positioned in lunges. The foils were little more than blurs as they clashed and moved away, only to clash once more. She was instantly able to tell who was who by virtue of their height difference. Nikola was pure skill and fineness, his hand extended high behind him. If one looked in a textbook they would find the picture of Nikola in how to fight.

But John, John was a warrior through and through. His hand was a little low, his wrist not positioned as precisely as it should be. And yet his blade met each of Nikola's, refusing to give the other man any kind of opening. Helen knew he was searching for an opening himself but refusing to give Nikola any sort of time to fid one of his own. His movements were more fluid, just as graceful as every other time she had see him in motion. With a sudden burst of speed Helen would have thought impossible had she not witnessed it with her own eyes, John's sword slipped under Nikola's and pressed to Nikola's chest.

"Well done gentlemen," Nigel said clapping, "and look, Miss Magnus has arrived."

Both men stopped and looked over at where Helen was standing. Helen quickly looked ahead, not meeting either of their eyes. She wished she could not feel pink staining her cheeks. She had not seen nor spoken to John Druitt since the ball where they had kissed--twice. And where she had slapped him. Classes had been let out and even if they had not, she would have found a way to avoid him. But there was no chance for anything of the sort. She still did not know entirely why she had come to this meeting when she could have just as easily run.

Well, she did know.

She missed him.

She missed them all so she had gathered her dignity and she had come to Nikola's house where they usually met. And she had not thought it was a horrible idea until the moment John's fingers went under the edge of his mask and he pulled it off. Then she thought it was a truly terrible idea. Especially when she saw the look in his eyes. He did not look uncertain or terrified or any of the emotions she had struggled with for the past few days. He looked completely calm, completely in control. His eyes were level and they met hers with no fear, no hesitance, nothing as if her presence meant nothing to him. In the folds of her skirts, Helen balled her fists and hardened her features. She was not going to look like a fool--again--in front of John Druitt.

"Ah, the great Helen Magnus has decided once more to join us," Helen looked over at Nikola, "I was beginning to think you had gone all womanly on us."

"I am a woman, Nikola," Helen said, secretly grateful for the distraction.

"A fact that has escaped none of us," he said throwing his own mask to the side, "but if you had started to act like the majority of your sex," he shrugged as he walked across the room, "I would have been disappointed."

"That would make two of us," Helen said, feeling her temper rise to the occasion as she turned to keep Nikola in her line of sight. He walked over to the bar and poured water into a cup from a pitcher, taking a drink before setting it down and walking back over to where John was standing, "are you two going to fight the entire time we are here?" she asked.

"I was unaware there was a time limit on our interactions," Nikola said, "going somewhere Helen?"

"Home, eventually," she shot back.

"Yours or his?" he asked pulling on his mask.

"Or whose?" Helen questioned.

"I'm disappointed," Nikola said, "You're acting overly feminine again, Helen," he added pulling on his mask.

Helen's eyes narrowed at the insult. She looked around the room before her eyes found what they were looking for. Turning she strode towards the rack of blades. Her eyes found the weapon she wanted and she drew it, testing the weight and balance. Finding it agreeable she grabbed a mask and walked over to where the two of them were standing. Both men had stopped, watching her as she walked back to where the two of them were. She turned to Nikola.

"Overly feminine am I?" she asked pulling the mask on, "shall I change your mind with this or would you prefer my fist?"

"You cannot be serious," Nikola said.

"Care to find out?"

"Why not?" he said, "but lets make this a bit more fair, shall we?"

Helen did not know what he meant until his shirt was off. Her eyes widened as she looked at his torso. She was expecting the musculature and all the other parts of the male anatomy. What she was not expecting were the burns. The blackened, scarred skin stretched across the right side of his ribcage and all down his left arm, stopping just below his elbow. Burns that did not look as though they had not necessarily been created by fire. Her eyes traced the contours of the burns, her mind quickly going over what she knew from her father. Every ounce of medical training she had told her that the man standing in front of her should have been dead. His lips curved into a smile, as if he knew she was surveying him.

"Don't look too hard Helen, I fear you'll make the old boy jealous."

Embarrassed, Helen turned her eyes away from him. Helen shifted her stance, bringing her sword up. Nikola grinned before pulling on his mask and holding his own weapon in his grip. They two squared off against each other, pausing only for a moment. Helen lunged forward, her sword meeting Nikola's blow. Instantly she moved away as he struck. She parried his blow, forcing his blade away. Helen was sure to keep her movements compact but before she could go in she felt the press of Nikola's sword against her chest. She looked down, her eyes wide at the skill that had beaten her so easily.

"What'd we tell her about fighting for pride?" Nigel asked looking over at James, "its the hot headed ones, they never learn."

"Well you did last longer than I was expecting," Nikola said, the smugness in his voice making her cheeks burn, "though not as long as I had hoped. Perhaps you need some private lessons?"

"If she is hoping to beat you, Nikola, then she should learn from someone whose done it, don't you agree?" James called over.

Helen tightened her hand on the sword, immediately knowing who they were talking about. Sure enough, John was standing nearby and suddenly the embarrassment she felt tripled. There was no malice in John's eyes, nothing but the barest tinge of humor. Still he moved forward with the grace she had come to expect from him. He stopped close enough that she could feel the warmth that came off his body, no sign of embarrassment from what happened when she had grabbed and kissed him. Suddenly it occurred to Helen that John Druitt, being the attractive man he was, was probably kissed by girls all the time. Her grabbing him and pressing their mouths together, it probably meant nothing to him.

"Any way I can be of service," he said.

Helen's eyes slammed into the ground and, for the rest of the meeting, she found it quite impossible to look John Druitt in the eye.

John Druitt, being a man not prone to flights of fancy, was more than aware of the fact that Helen Magnus suddenly seemed unable to look him in the eye. Honestly he had not expected her to show up at their meeting. When she had his heart had soared, soared until he had seen the look in her eyes. She seemed torn between wishing the ground would open her up and swallow her whole and wishing that _he_ was a million miles away. While John thought the first of the options would be the worst, he could not say he was inclined to wish for either. He did know exactly why Helen was looking so upset, though he could not say he shared the sentiment. After all, he had found their actions at the ball, if anything, quite pleasant.

Though John did think it was a new experience to have a woman kiss _him_ first.

But now as he watched Helen slip on her coat, he realized he was going to have to catch her. What a strange woman she was, one moment challenging Nikola to duels and the next running like a scared rabbit. Just when he thought he knew her, she did something completely different. For all his love of the female gender, John Druitt truly had _no_ idea what to make of Helen Magnus. Still he knew that he was going to have do something. Fortunately it was pleasant enough outside that he imagined she would be walking home. He grabbed his coat before anyone could help him into it and shrugged it on. Unfortunately he realized Helen had already left.

"She went right," Nigel said. John paused and turned to look at him, knowing that her house was left, "she said something about going through Piccadilly because it was so nice out but personally _I_ think you've got the girl out of sorts."

"Thank you Nigel," he said.

"She's got you out of sorts too you know!" Nigel called after him.

John hurried out of the house, pleased to see Helen still within sight distance. John walked after her, not fast enough that she would immediately know he was following her but quickly enough so that he would not loose her entirely. They walked the entire way to Piccadilly in that manner, Helen leading and him following at a safe distance. Just when John was beginning to think that she had not noticed she was being followed, he realized that she was most likely ignoring him. A smile came to his lips at the thought and he walked forward, closing the distance between them with speed. Helen continued to ignore him even when it was impossible to do so with any sort of convincingness.

"You know," John said falling into step beside her, "it is rather rude to ignore someone."

"And following people is not?" Helen asked, still looking ahead.

"is there a reason you seem so determined not to look at me?" John inquired. Helen felt her cheeks burn, "if I did not know better I would say you were ashamed at what happened the other night."

"A proper woman--" Helen began.

"A proper woman?" John laughed and Helen felt her embarrassment increase, "Helen I doubt you will ever be anything of the sort."

"You think I do not know that?" Helen demanded turning on him finally, "it is all good and fine to crusade for what one believes in but if there is a single place where I may be considered a 'proper woman' than I _must_ at the very least _try_ to uphold it."

"And kissing a man in public is that place?" John questioned.

"It was," Helen snapped.

"My memory must be deserting me then," John said, "because I could have sworn that you were the one to kiss me."

"You are perfectly aware that I did that for another purpose--a fact I deeply regret!" she told him.

"Regret the circumstance or the action it drove you to take?" he asked looking at her and feeling the stirrings of his temper.

"Both," she said turning around to walk away.

"You know courting you is going to be anything but easy," John said. Helen stopped, "not that I would expect anything less from the Great Helen Magnus."

Though her back was turned to him, Helen felt her eyes widen. Court _her_? But there was far more than a chance that John Druitt could have half the girls in London. Yet he was speaking of courting her. If he was teasing her--and surely he must be--then Helen thought he was much crueler than she would have ever dreamed. Still, her father had taught her that even when one had nothing they could still have their dignity. So, summoning whatever shreds of it remained, Helen turned around and looked at him.

"Well then, I suppose you had better move on to the next girl," she said picking up her skirts and turning away.

"The next girl--" John shook his head, "oh Helen, what you must think of me," he walked forward, "i don't think I shall ever find a girl as intriguing as you."

"Intrigue wears off," she said.

"Well beyond that I'm sure there a hundred other things about you that I shall find completely enthralling," he said.

"And if I were to grow bored of you?" she asked, her eyes narrowing as she indulged him, if only for the moment.

"Well I would expect you to throw me to the curb," he said, "but I doubt that is likely. I have managed to keep Nikola entertained for five or so years," he said, "and he is a man easily bored."

"Five years is not a terribly long time," she said.

"Yes but by then I full intend to have proven my worth to you so that if you do not love me you will at least keep me around for my value."

"Which would be?"

"Well," John said, "when you sprain your ankle, my strength will be enough to help you home. Or when you are accosted by far less worthy men, my fists can 'ask' them to step away."

Helen smiled faintly at that. She was not sure what to make of this development. But he had not responded to her pushing him away, as if he had seen past the fear that drove her to do so. She did not know if she truly liked the idea of a man being able to se her so clearly. But if she was to spend time with a man who could see the truth so easily where she was concerned, she could not say that she was unhappy it was him. Still, she was not entirely sure that she liked the idea. Helen looked at him carefully, choosing her words before she spoke.

"Alright, Mr. Druitt," she said, "you may court me," he smiled but she continued, "_after_ you teach me to beat Nikola Tesla."

"I would gladly teach you regardless," he said.

"Yes, I am aware," she said, "but this way, should you be successful, then it will be your lips that drive the 'less worthy' men to step away, rather than your fists," she smiled at the shocked look on his face, "good day, Mr. Druitt."

John watched Helen walk into the crowd of Piccadilly, more certain than ever that he would never find a woman quite like Helen Magnus. So all he had to do was teach her to beat Nikola Tesla and she would let him try to win her over. He was confident in his abilities, both at fighting and at wooing, but he knew that if he had a chance of succeeding he had to do it this way. Besides, he could think of things worth less of his time than teaching someone to wipe that arrogant smirk off Nikola Tesla's face. He stood there until she had disappeared completely from his sight.

No, John Druitt thought, he would never find another woman like Helen Magnus.

But, then again, why would he want to?

* * *

**And we've updated! **

**So I'm desperately wanting John to come back to Sanctuary but so far, no luck. So, yeah, lets live vicariously though the early days of their relationship. I wanted Helen to make it difficult for John, I'm guessing she'd be a bit embarassed by what happened. **

**Well, don't worry, eventually we'll get back to now. But for right now I wanna stay in the past.**

**Please PLEASE REVIEW!**

**Pretty please? I promise I'll update sooner if you review!**


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